


Peter & Tony Take Vegas (feat. The Tony Stark Vegas Experience™)

by SbiderSlut (BlackCoffeeCat)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Food Sex, Las Vegas, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rich Sex, Smut, Sugar Baby Peter Parker, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Watersports, Wealth, Wetting, by food i mean dom perignon, i just like watersports very much ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-06 19:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCoffeeCat/pseuds/SbiderSlut
Summary: In an ultimate reliving of their sugar daddy/sugar baby past, Tony takes Peter on an excessive trip to Sin City. They proceed to, er,sin.Sponsored by: Hermès, Dom Perignon, butt plugs, Caesars Palace, one Britney Spears reference, and Rich Ppl $ex™(Kidding. Nobody would ever sponsor this filthfest.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valiant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valiant/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I, despite being a complete thot, am really bad at jumping into porn without some sort of exposition, we've ended up with this chapter. There's some smut involved, but it's more of a buildup to the _real_ nasty goodness. Lowkey, if you're just here for the really filthy stuff, you can totally come back when chapter two (completed and being edited at this very moment) is posted. You could probably even read that one alone. 
> 
> But there is wealthy aesthetic in this chapter. Total rich people porn. Gambling. Diamond clothes. Etc. If that's your jam, then this chapter might still be redeemable for you. 
> 
> Happy reading and hope you enjoy!!!

“Diamond for your filthy thoughts, baby?” A gentle hand tilts Peter’s face upwards by his chin, and Peter smiles up at the knowing, handsome face of Tony Stark.

“What filthy thoughts?” Peter teases, pink lips curling into a sly smile. “I have no filthy thoughts.”

It’s cute, but he’s fooling nobody. Tony grins like a shark and leans down, kissing gently along Peter’s jawline. He lets his beard scrape slightly, drawing out a soft giggle. “No filthy thoughts?” he murmurs, nipping at Peter’s earlobe and making his favorite boy squirm. “Who are you and what have you done to my Peter?”

Peter huffs out a laugh, but it turns into a quiet sigh as Tony finally places a wet, tingly kiss along his neck. “Hmm, I was just thinking about being your sugar baby,” he murmurs. “Before all of this.”

That causes Tony to pause and pull back the slightest. “You know we’re equals, right? How we started out doesn’t matter -- who provides the finances doesn’t matter. And if you feel differently, I can -- ”

Peter quickly ends that train of thought by touching his index finger softly to Tony’s lip. God, he loves this man, for reasons just like this. He’s so incredibly thoughtful and kind and marvelous; before him, Peter would never have considered the possibility of falling for any sugar daddy.

“Oh gosh, I know,” Peter rushes out, eager to soothe Tony’s worries. That’s _so not_ what he meant. “It’s not like that at all. I was _thinking_ about it.”

A pause.

“Oh, some nostalgia, hmm?” Tony smirks, then. It’s never been a secret that he gets an erotic charge from spoiling Peter. He loves throwing his money around and watching his boy enjoy it.

Now Peter, on the other hand, Tony’d never been quite sure of. He’d never been sure if his sugar baby had just been grateful for having material possessions and a nice lifestyle, or something else. So, Tony had always been careful not to overdo it.

And then, their relationship changed. They became official. The subject of allowances and luxuries was dropped, simply because they became a given. And then, and then, and then.

But now? Now that Tony knows for sure? He has year’s worth of ideas and he’s going to see all of them to completion. “So, you want to be my…?”

Peter swallows and glances down, swirling a finger in various shapes on Tony’s chest -- a bashful gesture. “Uh, I want to be your arm candy. I want you to dress me up and show me off. I want to…”

“Be my trophy wife?”

Peter blushes. “Your trophy _slut._ ”

 _That_ phrasing rushes through Tony’s veins like a potent drug. It gives him the perfect idea. “Oh, sweetheart,” Tony drawls. “I know exactly what we’re going to do. You’re going to love it.”

“What is it?” Peter perks up and glances at Tony curiously, beseechingly.

“You ever been to Vegas?”

\---

It goes without saying that the Tony Stark Vegas Experience™ is just a tad different from the Average Joe Vegas Experience, not trademarked.

First and foremost, normal people don’t get to clear out the entirety of the _Caesars Palace_ casino just to instill special security measures for guests -- no phones, no recording devices, basic background checks, etc etc.

If Peter weren’t so moved by the effort, he’d be horrified at how Tony seems ready to stop the planet to satisfy each and every one of Peter’s whims.

But Peter’s currently otherwise _preoccupied_ , so to say. Horror is the last emotion on his mind.

\---

“Time to change,” Tony says, bustling Peter into the … _suite_ could be the appropriate term? Or _penthouse_? Peter’s not sure, but it’s fucking _nice_ with a cream and pearl color scheme, lights everywhere, and a chandelier whose glint may be a health threat depending on how the light hits it.

He’d drawn the line at having staff wait on them -- he wants the luxury and excess, but he also wants Tony. He wants no other person between him and Tony.

“Uh, you told me not to pack clothes.”

“I know. Follow me.”

When Tony shows him the outfit, laid out in a satin-lined _Hermès_ box, Peter’s first thought is, _are those supposed to be clothes?_

It’s not exactly…

The _best_ way Peter could think to describe it -- with all his pop culture knowledge -- is that iconic nude glitter suit from _Toxic_ , except there’s no nude cloth -- _only_ threads of glitter. And instead of glitter, it’s _diamonds_ and thin metal chains.

Safe to say, wearing it would do nothing to solve the problem of nudity. But fuck, it’s so _shiny_. And _glitzy_. And _luxe._

As Peter picks it up to admire it -- this giant, drapey gossamer of sparkling drops that catch every flash of light in the room -- the chains and diamonds clink like wind chimes, but richer. Imagining just how much money he must be holding right now makes his head go all wonderfully woozy.

“Oh, wow,” Peter breathes, feeling arousal flood his body. _Tony_ had bought that for him. If he knows Tony at all, the man had ordered it custom. It’s been designed for Peter, and Peter _only_. “I -- Daddy -- wow. Am I your Daisy Buchanan?”

Tony steps up behind him, then, resting a heavy hand on Peter’s hip and pressing their bodies together. There’s no mistaking the hardness that’s pushing against Peter’s lower back. “Jay Gatsby _wishes_ he could have this,” he murmurs, voice soft and sultry, into Peter’s ear.

It’s his seductive voice -- his sugar daddy voice.

He’d used it a lot more in the past, when they were sugar baby and sugar daddy, and nothing more. Though Peter loves _all_ of Tony’s various voices with every molecule of himself, hearing this husky baritone again evokes his sense memory in the filthiest way. “Hmm,” Peter sighs, eyes fluttering at the brush of warm breath against the back of his ear. Carefully, he lays the number back down in the box and leans back into Tony, into his full embrace. They sway, ever-so-slightly. “Who are you, then?”

“This is a palace, and I’m the _king_.”

“And who am I?”

“My _prince_ , of course.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes out, feeling his heart thunk. He’s definitely more than mildly aroused. He’s hard, just like Tony is hard, and Peter can’t resist just pushing back the slightest bit, pushing the swell of his ass against the growing bulge in Tony’s slacks.

“You like that?” Tony asks, giving a short, barely-there thrust of his hips that makes Peter smile and huff out a soft _oomph._ “You like being my prince?”

“Yes, your majesty.” There’s a pause, and Peter tries, “Daddy?” just to feel then both on his tongue.

“You can call me whatever you’d like, my prince,” Tony murmurs, between soft kisses to the shell of Peter’s ear. “I can be both.”

That’s … still not the worst thing they’ve roleplayed, and Peter lets out a soft moan. Wealth _and_ taboo, his _favorites_. “Daddy,” he whines out, when Tony’s hand on his hip starts to slide forward and downward. “Wait.” It takes so much effort to twist away from Tony’s touch, especially when Peter’s lizard brain wants nothing more than to thrust into his Daddy’s touch.

The hand stills and retracts back to Peter’s waist. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I should take a shower. Clean up a bit. Prepare.”

Tony, of course, catches Peter’s meaning. And though maintenance and hygiene don’t faze him the slightest, he’s learned that Peter likes to keep these few things private. Tony respects that. So, he points Peter towards the (oh-my-god-so-fucking-luxe-and-editorial) bathroom.

\---

“Will you help me put it on?”

Peter pads back into the living room, wrapped in a towel, to find Tony sitting in an armchair. The outfit, with the box laid open, is set on the coffee table.

There’s a pause, and then a clearing of Tony’s throat. “Yes,” he agrees, rising out of his seat. His voice comes out deliciously hungry and predatory. “Let’s get you in that little number, shall we?”

Peter drops the towel and faces Tony. As the man approaches, Peter unconsciously brings his hands forward, hiding his stirring erection, but Tony just hums -- a soft, comforting type of hushing noise -- and gently pulls them back to Peter’s side. “Don’t be shy,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. Let Daddy see you.” He looks Peter up and down with a wildness in his eyes. “So pretty for Daddy, like this.”

The praise bubbles, warm and pleasant, in Peter’s tummy.

With dexterous, light fingers, Tony helps unbuckle the many clasps on the outfit, draping the rich webbing of precious metals and jewels over Peter’s skin before closing them, one at a time. There must be at least thirty closures. The number lays, cool and heavy and deliciously decadent against Peter’s skin, and Peter feels himself get impossibly harder with each loud click, with each brush of Tony’s warm dry fingers in contrast to the cold ice.

“There you go,” Tony eventually says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Why don’t you take a spin for Daddy?” He makes a circular gesture with his finger.

Face flushing hot, Peter slowly pivots on his feet to complete a 360-degree turn. “You’re so pretty in diamonds, baby,” Tony says, before pausing. “You _make_ them pretty. They’re pretty on _you._ ”

Despite the erotic charge in the air, Peter feels his heart fill at those words, so _thoughtful_.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he murmurs looking down. It’s really quite a beautiful piece of full-body jewelry -- the waterfalls of palladium-gold alloy chains which make up the fabric of the outfit  -- impossibly thin and delicate --  look like silvery threads of mithril, and the jewels flash like sparkling droplets. The entire number is just loose enough that it drapes artfully _everywhere,_ from the breadth of his shoulders to his hips and his cock.

In a sudden fit of curiosity, Peter turns to check out his back in the mirror and his forehead wrinkles in confusion -- there’s a part that’s left unclasped, over the swell of his ass. The webs there are loose, like drop-bottom footie pajama.

“That’s the second surprise,” Tony says, catching onto Peter’s concern. He walks over to the fireplace, picks up a sleek box on the mantle, and walks back up to Peter.

“ _Oh,_ ” Peter says, when he opens it to reveal a matching plug. The girth is made of a gleaming stainless steel, and the flared end is embedded with a diamond that must be at least an inch in diameter. Around the end of the plug are several barely-there ridges and Peter stops breathing when he realizes what they are. They're small, delicate clasps; the plug is _part of the outfit_. “T-thank you, Daddy,” he says.

“You’re welcome, darling. Now be a good boy let Daddy put that in for you, hmm?”

Wordlessly, Peter walks over to the glass table, sets the box down on one corner, and bends over. He rests his cheek against the cool surface and waits.

“Attaboy,” Tony praises, then. Outside Peter’s line of vision, he saunters up to the boy and slowly picks up the box. He takes the small bottle of lube, first, generously drizzling it onto his fingers and warming it up. “You ready?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Slowly, steadily, making sure he’s using plenty of lubrication, Tony presses a single finger into Peter’s hole, drawing out a soft sigh from the boy. Peter takes that one, easy, and Tony is quickly able to work in a second and a third before Peter is gasping louder, bordering on moaning. “You alright?”

“ _Ah-hah_.”

Knowing that they have the night (several nights, actually) ahead of them, Tony simply works Peter loose enough that he can take the lube-stained plug and slip it in place with a deliciously wet squelch. As it slides into place, Peter lets out a soft, long keen and his back arches, but he says no word of complaint as Tony pulls away. “Thank you, Daddy,” he murmurs, falling still so Tony can finish his dressing, clicking chains in place onto the plug so that it’s fully attached to the rest of what Peter’s adorned in.

“You are welcome, baby,” Tony says, guiding Peter to standing with a firm hand. “Now, let’s get going, alright? So much to see, so much to do. Don’t worry, I have pants for you.”

\---

The less that can be said about the rest of the evening, the better. All Peter can say is, the Green Light? Daisy and Gatsby’s longing? That’s fucking _nothing_ , compared to wearing chintzy metal and diamonds around Tony Stark and not being able to fuck him right in the middle of the casino.

For Peter, time blurs into a kaleidoscope of bright, rich colors, loud music, and shimmering lights. He’s caught up in a sex zen the entire time, as he bends over the polished roulette table with Tony’s crotch nestled firmly against his ass, nudging at the plug _just so_. Leaning forward to blow on the dice Tony holds out, Peter only has eyes for the older man -- he couldn’t tell you how any roll turned out. 

He obediently takes drink after drink that Tony buys him -- he never knew alcohol could taste so  _good_. He drinks himself into a pleasant haze, feeling the booze settle low in his belly. Feeling it run through his bloodstream and slowly fill his bladder up. 

Peter sits in Tony’s lap as the man plays hand after hand of poker, and rocks against the man’s thigh, just the slightest bit. The movement nudges his prostate deliciously, and that -- combined with the barely-there ache of a half-full bladder -- keeps him balanced on the sharp edge of arousal.

All night, Peter feels other eyes on him. What eyes wouldn’t be on him when he’s dressed like a kept slut, in sheer metal and diamonds that leave little to the imagination, and a sleek, fitted pair of black slacks?

But Peter only cares about Tony, who keeps a possessive hand over Peter’s lower belly, where everyone at the table can see his silent claim.

Peter has eyes for Tony -- only Tony. 

Tony, who -- every once in a while -- will purposefully shift his thigh just to draw a mewling gasp from Peter for the whole table to hear.

Tony, who lets Peter peek at hand after hand as he wins round after round.

(After all, Peter’s lack of a poker face isn’t an issue. He’s wearing only one expression tonight: _debauched_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full on smut (including watersports!!!) commences next chapter! 
> 
> (Also. I wrote this in one night so if the quality is a little iffy. That's why. I'm only a decent writer when I can spend a year refining each paragraph XD) 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear what you think <3 <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut commences. Dom Perignon is spilt, diamonds are savagely torn, cash is pissed on. Tom Ford's finest is ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a hot second to get posted, I know! I got insecure, and then busy with life, and then more insecure XD BUT, the wonderful [Feyrelay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay) looked over my draft and had some wonderful suggestions for the content, so I owe a lot of this to her <3 SPAG errors are 100% my own fault, though! 
> 
> Anyhow, here's where you get the watersports and actual smut, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks for all y'all's patience <3

They get back to their room in a stumbling mess, Peter barely able to pull away long enough for Tony to take out the key card. “Please, please, please,” he slurs, feeling just a little bit tipsy and _more_ than a little full on drinks. He licks wetly against the side of Tony’s neck, nuzzling into that warmth with a whiny, desperate moan. “Daddy, _please_.”

“Fuck, baby, just one second,” Tony grunts, finally getting the door to flash green. It swings open wildly with a rough shove of Tony’s hand, and they practically collapse into the room.

“Get those pants off you,” Tony mutters, deftly opening the button of Peter’s silky, black dress slacks and pushing them low enough that Peter can kick them off and across the room. “There you go.”

“Bed,” Peter pants out, latching back onto Tony. “Now. Please.”

Never one to withhold from his favorite boy, Tony hauls Peter’s slim frame into a swooping bridal carry and whisks them into the master bedroom in record time.

Peter lets out a gasp as Tony drops him on the bed, the force both nudging Peter’s plug and making his bladder _jolt_. In a fluid motion, he pushes to sitting, braces his hands behind himself, spreads his legs wide open, and grinds his ass down on the bed. He lets his mouth fall open in a silent moan and his half-lidded gaze locks onto Tony's. “Please, Daddy,” he begs, rolling his hips in a hypnotizing show which makes all the chains and jewels draped over him sing.

He _knows_ he looks irresistible.

Looking utterly mesmerized by the vision, Tony prowls forward, shucking off his suit jacket and tossing it to the side without a second glance. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt and crawls on the bed, looming over Peter’s frame. With a hand which nearly encircles half of Peter’s neck, Tony yanks him into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss that’s more tongue than anything else. “Fuck, baby,” he groans, other hand sliding down to cup at Peter’s straining cock. He’s barely able to grasp it -- or to feel that delicious wet warmth of precome against his palm -- before his fingers get all tangled up. “Fuck,” he growls, “I did _not_ think that _Hermès_ through.”

Another thing he doesn’t think through, though?

Without a spare thought, Tony sits back, grasps the thin metal gossamer over Peter’s abdomen with his two hands, and yanks it apart with all his strength. There’s a cacophony of snapping and breaking, and the faint clinks of stray diamonds bouncing off into the dimly lit room, scattering across the marble of the floor.

Peter shrieks, shocked and mournful. “Daddy!” he gasps, eyes wide in a way that shouldn’t be so alluring. “What did you --?”

Even as shocked as Peter is, the display of power makes Peter hot all over. He’s so aroused that it damn near overwhelms the fullness of his bladder; the need  _is_ there, but Peter is so, _so_ hard and he feels _so_ warm and tingly that the need for Tony -- and power the man holds -- masks over all other sensations.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Tony cuts in, reaching to do the same to the chains over Peter’s left thigh. More snapping, more clinks. Peter’s heart just may stop. “I’ll buy you ten more.” He rips off the right thigh, as well. “In any color that you want.” With enough slack, Tony gently grasps at the tangle of chains that are draped over Peter’s cock and lifts it away. “Anything for my prince,” he rasps, and then he’s swallowing down the entire length of Peter’s cock.  

“Oh, f-fuck, Daddy!” Peter cries, hands giving out behind him. He falls onto his back and writhes, incoherent, whiny little sobs falling from his lips. “It’s too much -- I’m gonna -- not yet, _Daddy!_ ”

Merciful king that he is, Tony pulls off with a wet slurp and sits back, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “So close already, baby?” he asks. “Whatever shall we do about that?”

First things first, they slow it down. With gentle caring fingers that make Peter’s heart squeeze, Tony helps Peter shed the rest of his outfit, sliding the glinting material off the pale skin of his shoulders and arms. Gently, meticulously, Tony unhooks the outfit from the plug so that Peter is finally laid bare -- wearing nothing but his skin, a delightful looking flush, and his shiny, diamond plug.

“Why don’t we have some champagne?” Tony then suggests, eyeing how Peter’s cock is still standing stiff and pink, leaking precome. Peter knows he still looks dangerously on edge. He _is_ dangerously on edge -- surely the faintest of touches will set him off at this point.

And underneath all that, Peter’s feeling fuller and fuller with each passing minute.

“I’ve got --” Tony glances towards the nightstand, where a cooler bucket is sitting. “Dom Perignon? That alright?”

Peter nods, swallowing. No matter how lavish his lifestyle may be, expensive alcohol has always felt luxe in a way that’s utterly foreign to him. He’ll never get used to it. “Yeah. Sure," he agrees. His hands twitch in his lap and he clenches then together to avoid reaching for _something_ \-- for Tony? For his cock? He doesn’t know.

Tony’s unable to tear his eyes away from Peter; he expertly unfoils and pops the cork without even glancing down, his dark eyes fixed on Peter the entire time. Peter, however, tracks the delicious way the veins and muscles of Tony’s forearms ripple. “There should be glasses somewhere,” Tony murmurs, but he pauses when he catches the glint that flashes across Peter’s face -- one that he knows and adores because it always means a dirty, filthy time. “What are you thinking, my royal slut?”

This time, Peter smiles and says nothing. Instead, he elects to reach forward, gently prying the bottle from Tony’s grasp. He straddles Tony’s lap -- careful to keep his cock or his lower belly from making too much contact -- lest he set himself off one way or another. “Open up, Daddy,” Peter whispers, coyly. When Tony does just that, Peter adds, “don’t swallow,” lifts the bottle to Tony’s lips, and tips it.

Champagne, cool and fizzy, fills Tony’s open mouth, trickling into his beard and down his jaw and neck, staining the collar of his shirt. When the bubbles really start to fizz, that’s when Peter leans in and seals his mouth over Tony’s with a pornographic moan, licking into his Daddy’s open mouth and drinking up the champagne with obscene, noisy slurps.  

And it doesn’t exactly work -- not that Peter even expected it to. As Tony kisses back and slips his tongue against Peter’s, the expensive champagne goes _everywhere_ , dripping down their faces and jaws, down the lines of their necks.

Dom Perignon falls in droplets in the narrow space between their bodies, and Peter knows: as vintage as this bottle may be (and he doesn’t even _want_ to know how rare and aged this bottle is, or how much it’s worth), Peter could pour the pricey booze straight down the sink drain if he so wished, and Tony could not -- would not. Fucking. Care. Less.

As long as it makes Peter happy.

They drink like such for several rounds -- taking time between pours to exchange sloppy, smacking, languid kisses that have Peter squirming slightly into the friction Tony’s lower abs provide -- carefully, to avoid pushing himself too far.

Soon, Tony’s had enough -- he wrenches the bottle from Peter’s lax fingers, and he shoves, _hard_ , pushing the boy onto his back and climbing over him. Mounting him. “Your turn,” Tony whispers. Peter opens his mouth just like that, ever so obedient, like a baby bird waiting for whatever Tony deigns to give him. Then, Tony’s practically dumping the champagne in, licking his lips when Peter gargles slightly as the wine spills over and drips out.

When Tony leans down and kisses Peter, it’s with loose lips and a probing tongue, and most of the Dom Perignon spills out onto the sheets under Peter’s head, but it seems Tony couldn’t care less. He lavishes Peter with kiss after kiss, until their mouths are empty, and then he sits back sneaks a hand under Peter’s head, tilting him forward the slightest bit. “Put your lips around this,” he commands, and Peter obeys, latching onto the neck. “Swallow,” he commands and he tilts the bottle.

Peter keeps his eyes locked on Tony’s domineering gaze for swallow after swallow, doe-like gaze wet and glassy through his long lashes. When most of the bottle is gone -- when most of it is in Peter, Tony pulls it out and drags the bottle downward, soaking Peter’s neck and chest with the remaining champagne. “Oops,” he drawls out, “Let Daddy clean you up, hmm?”

It’s the perfect time-killer. The entire champagne interlude had done little to calm Peter down. Now, Tony takes his sweet time trailing his tongue over every inch of Peter, lapping up the traces of bitter-dryness from the Dom Perignon. He swirls his tongue into Peter’s belly button, noisily sucking up the champagne that’s pooled there like a body shot.

Peter simply lays back and relishes in the soft sensation of being licked and kissed all over, letting out quiet, pleased sighs.

The tender treatment keeps Peter on the brink arousal, but gives him time to loosen up. Under Tony’s palm, Peter’s heartbeat finally falls to less than a rapid flutter.

Tony eventually pulls away, and looks up questioningly. “How are you feeling now?”

“Hmm?” Peter shifts slightly, and his breath hitches when that movement nudges the plug that’s still lodged in him. _Oh, right_ , he remembers. _The plug is still in_. “M’good,” he slurs, feeling an extra wave of tipsiness from the champagne he’d just chugged.  

His slight movements also remind him of a _very_ different sensation, again. _Oh geez,_ he thinks, the need to relieve himself hitting him like a wave. He really should have taken a bathroom break after all those drinks from the bar to extend his timing, because adding the champagne on top of that? Not helping. He’s getting close to bursting, and they’ve only ever _played_ in the shower, in a pool, in the _ocean_ , even -- never in a bed. Not yet, at least.

And most definitely never in the Alaskan King of a Las Vegas penthouse suite.

As if remembering the plug at the same time as Peter, Tony trails his fingers up Peter’s inner thigh and between his legs, gently grasping the plug between his index finger and thumb and giving it a gentle wiggle.

“Ah!” Peter gasps brokenly, hips rocking. The design of the plug, compared to Tony’s precise movements, nudges the plug against Peter’s prostate. _Oh god,_ he thinks, clenching down his muscles against a sudden, dangerously strong urge to pee. “Daddy, wait!” Peter squeaks out, feeling his cheeks flush. “Tony!”

“Yes, my prince?” Another twist of the plug and _oh, okay, oh gosh, fuck,_ he can’t take this much longer -- they’ve got to move their activities off the bed, _now_.

“I have to, uh, _go._ ”

“Go?” Another twist.

Peter’s spine arches as, with a pained whine, he dodges the movement to minimize the press of the plug. “I need go to the bathroom, Daddy.”

“Oh, hmm.” _Tug. Twist._ Peter kicks out with a desperate whimper, and tries to close his legs. Mercilessly, Tony holds them open and in place. “Would you really leave Daddy alone in this bed, baby?”

“But …” Peter starts to protest. Then, he looks at Tony’s expression and _oh_ , that’s _interesting_. Of course, Tony would never say ‘no’ to Peter defiling his furniture and property -- not when he’s absolutely loaded and has no compunction about spoiling Peter stupid -- but to think that he's actively turned on by the idea ...

To Peter, the idea is daunting. Utterly thrilling, but daunting.

Besides, they’re technically laying on the property of _Caesars Palace._

There’s no mistaking the pure _want_ on the older man’s face, though. And Peter doesn’t exactly _not_ want it … “I -- no, Daddy. I wouldn’t leave you.”  

“Good boy.”

The praise tingles up the back of Peter’s neck. He shivers -- only half from Tony’s words. The other half,  _well_. “What do you want me to do, Daddy? How do I --?”

The gears visibly turn in Tony’s head, and then he pushes himself upright. He lays down on his back and pulls Peter forward with a guiding hand, until Peter is straddled over him. “Like this,” Tony says. “Can you piss on Daddy like this, sweetheart?”

God, that makes Peter’s mouth go so dry. He feels hot all over. With his legs splayed wide over Tony’s hips, there’s no chance of closing them, and if he’d thought the urge was bad before, he’s _really_ feeling it now. “Yes, yes,” Peter agrees, reaching down and grabbing two fistfuls of Tony’s soft dress shirt. He squirms and clutches the material tightly, just to keep that last ounce of control.

But then, the silkiness of the fabric between Peter’s fingers makes him pause, and the situation _really_ hits him. “Your clothes, Daddy,” Peter protests. “The bed. I’m going to ruin them.”

That thought doesn’t seem to bother Tony the slightest. “Ruin them, baby. Daddy wants you to ruin them. In fact …” He shifts under Peter to reach into the pocket of his slacks, slipping out a thick money clip, packed full of crisp, clean bills.

With a deft flick of his hand, the stack bursts, bills fluttering in the air around them. Slowly, they float down, settling all around them -- and over them -- like lush summer leaves caught in a rich breeze. _Fuck_ if it isn’t romantic in the richest way to sit on his lover in a shower of green money.

This puts Gatsby’s shirts to complete shame.

In total awe, Peter reaches down and traces one of the bills on the bed by Tony’s waist. _$1000_. “They don’t print these, anymore,” Peter murmurs, dazed.

“They do for me.”

It’s a statement -- no question, no room for doubt. The United States Department of the Treasury will print retired legal tender for Tony Stark. The thought makes Peter’s heart pound -- his boyfriend is just a few commands short of running the world. He’s dating one of the most powerful men on Earth.

He sitting on one of the most powerful men on earth, and about to piss on him.

_Jesus._

“Daddy -- I -- are you _sure_?” Peter picks up a bill between his fingers and thinks -- years ago, he would have been happy to have just _one_ of these bills for the entire _month._ Fuck, so many people would _still_ do so much to have just one of these bills. As heady as this feeling is, he doesn’t think he'll ever lose that small part of himself that feels guilt at the thought pissing over something so valuable.

But, he trusts Tony. He trusts the man to understand his past, and to accept it. He trusts that Tony will grace him with kind words and assurances later on, when the guilt really does hit him. And he trusts the man’s words when he asserts that Peter _does_ deserve nice things in life.

There’s so much in the world that isn’t fair, but maybe it’s okay that they have this. Maybe it’s okay that they are selfish at times. Maybe it’s okay that they take this chance to feel good and be a little immoral. God knows, they spend their day-to-day lives trying to make the world a better place.

Maybe it’s okay for Peter to give into his greed -- shaped by all those years of struggling to keep his electricity on and belly filled -- and let Tony teach him how to fuck like a filthy rich slut. Maybe it’s okay to give in, sometimes, and mindlessly be a precious, spoiled  _thing_  to a rich, rich man.

Maybe.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Tony says, reading Peter perfectly. “I understand.”  

The thing is, there’s so much lust, too. The thought of ruining something so valuable with such a crude act makes the inside of Peter’s head all cottony. It makes his mouth water and his heart pound. Just -- it’s a rather shocking thought and even more shocking to execute.

“I want to, Daddy,” he stammers out honestly, looking down at his hands and biting his lip as he relishes in the way he feels so full in every way. “I’m just … ”

“Yes, sweetheart? You can tell me. Tell Daddy.”

Barely a whisper, Peter murmurs, “... _shy.”_

_Please, do it for me. Help me._

_Make me._

There’s a reason why Tony and Peter ended up together -- Tony reads Peter better than anyone. He reads Peter even better than he reads any mathematical formula. “That’s alright, kitten,” Tony coos, running a comforting hand over one of Peter’s thighs. “Daddy will help you.”

“Mmkay.”

Tony starts small -- he props his knees up so they’re snug against Peter’s back, leaving Peter with nowhere to escape to. He massages the tops of Peter’s thighs with gentle brushes of his hands, the motions doing wonders at helping Peter relax. Those hands slowly travel upwards, past the creases of Peter’s hips, until they’re settled right on the bones of Peter’s hips, thumbs stroking gently at bare skin. Gradually, one hand moves -- the right hand. It slides over to rest over the flat expanse of Peter’s lower belly.

And then, Tony _presses_ , gently.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Peter chokes out, eyes squeezing shut as the soft pressure Tony exerts makes a dribble of pee leak out. It leaves the smallest of wet patches on the belly of Tony’s dress shirt. “Oh no, oh no, I’m so sorry, Daddy,” Peter babbles out reflexively, entire body shuddering with the automatic effort of getting himself back under control.

“It’s okay, baby,” Tony soothes. “You’re okay, just relax.” He presses down again, more firmly.

Another dribble -- slightly longer, this time. Peter sobs out, watching his piss trickle and squirt out against his control, feeling both ashamed and so, so exhilarated. “Fuck, Daddy,” Peter whimpers. “I can’t hold on -- Daddy, please, I -- ”

“Don’t hold on,” Tony soothes. “Let go sweetheart. Daddy’s got you.” With his other hand, Tony gives a single, jolting smack to the side of Peter’s hip. That, combined with the pressure over his bladder and Tony’s reassuring words, cracks the metaphorical dam.

Peter lets go. Muscles falling lax, he gives into the pressure of Tony’s touch, and an abrupt, warm stream of urine jets out of his cock, quickly soaking the material of Tony’s shirt into translucence before it tapers off again. There’s more force than Peter expects in it -- he manages to piss all the way to the edge of Tony’s collar, and the older man lets out a loud rumbling groan, both hands flying to grasp roughly at Peter’s hips. “Fuck yes, baby,” Tony growls. “That’s it, good boy. Give it to Daddy.”

Spurred on by both Tony’s encouragement and the naughty thrill of defiling his Daddy in the dirtiest way possible, Peter relaxes himself even further, and is rewarded when another stream bursts forth -- long and steady, arching slightly as his dick twitches from the rush of relief which flows through his overstressed body.

They both groan at the lewd hissing noise which fills the air, and Tony’s fingers tighten against Peter’s hip bones to the point of bruising -- _good,_ Peter thinks. _Let it bruise._

The air feels so thick, and they both get caught in a moment of awed silence as they watch the piss streaming out of Peter and onto Tom Ford’s very finest.

Onto _Tony._

 _Fuck_ , Peter thinks to himself. He’s _really_ doing this.

Tony moves, first -- he lifts one hand from Peter’s hip, blindly reaches to the side, grabs a handful of cash. Without the slightest hesitation, he slaps the bills right onto his chest -- right into the spray of Peter’s piss.

Peter squeaks in shock, but there’s no masking the shudder that wracks through his body at the sight of his urine soaking into the green paper of thousand-dollar tender. “Oh, gosh,” he groans out, unconsciously rocking his plug against the rock-solid bulge of Tony's erection, pressed snugly against his ass.

“You like that?” Tony asks, wrapping a firm hand around Peter’s cock and directing the stream so it splashes in rivulets all over the mess of bills, all over Tony’s chest and shoulders, all over the few inches of bedspread to each side of Tony’s body. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice lowered to a faux-disdainful husk. “Spending Daddy’s money. _Pissing_ on daddy’s money like a spoiled, untrained mutt. You’re nothing but my little sugar slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Peter chants, feeling his entire body tingle with the degrading words. “I’m your slut, Daddy. Nothing but your dirty little slut.” In a sudden rush of perverted inspiration, Peter releases a fistful of Tony’s piss-soaked shirt and reaches behind him and to the side, blindly feeling until his fingers come in contact with familiar cool metal -- a tangled mess of gold-palladium alloy chains and pristine diamonds that Tony had savagely ripped off him earlier. He takes that handful of ice and lays it right over the spread of wet money.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Tony groans, hand tightening around Peter’s cock as he directs the stream right into that web of pure wealth and opulence. “You little, nasty genius.”

Peter, himself, is entranced -- he watches, mouth lax, as his piss splashes over the shiny facets of precious metals and diamonds, and the power of that action curls in his stomach, dark and churning. As the last of his urine slows into a trickle, a sudden keening cry is wrenched from Peter’s throat when Tony’s hand immediately starts moving on his cock in firm, unforgiving, long strokes that make Peter’s entire body tremble.

He’s fully hard within seconds, lubed up with the wetness of his own piss. Mindlessly, he thrusts against the wet heat of Tony’s hand, simultaneously using the friction of Tony’s clothed erection underneath him to nudge at the plug that's still buried inside. “So fucking desperate for it, aren’t you? Grinding on Daddy like a bitch in heat,” Tony rasps, stilling his hand so that Peter has to do the work himself, fucking into Tony’s grasp with messy, clumsy little rolls of his hips. “What if Daddy forces you to get off like this? What if Daddy punishes you for being such a dirty little boy tonight?”

The thought is fucking hot to Peter, but he’s also desperate. He _needs_ his Daddy’s touch, especially after what he’s already done tonight -- _especially_ in the richest room in the City of Sin -- and he’s not afraid to beg for it. “Please, Daddy,” he just about snivels. “I need you, Daddy, please fuck me? I’m sorry -- sorry ’m so dirty, Daddy, I’ll be good, please forgive me.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Tony relents. "Maybe Daddy will ruin you, tonight, hmm? Ruin you, just like how you ruined this nice bed with your filth." He grins like a shark, and with a twist of his hips, he’s flipped Peter underneath his frame, pissed-soaked shirt pressing and dripping onto the soft skin of Peter’s belly. “What do you say, my prince?”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” Peter stutters, arching and rubbing against the warm wetness of Tony’s shirt with a soft mewl. “Thank you.”

He just about sobs in relief as Tony silently reaches down and pulls the plug out of his hole with a soft, wet, _pop_ , and slides his fingers in. He cries out incoherently as Tony’s fingers curl with precision and gently rubs against his prostate, giving the Peter the direct stimulation the plug couldn’t manage before. “F-fuck,” he whimpers.

Those fingers still and Tony _tsks._ “Language, baby,” he murmurs. “Good boys don’t use such naughty words.”

“O-okay, Daddy, I’m sorry.” As he stammers out the apology, Tony reaches up and pushes the rounded head of the plug into Peter’s mouth. Obediently, Peter closes his mouth around it and glances up into his Daddy’s dark, dark eyes.

Tony stares at him for a second, face inscrutable, and then he says, “Good boy.” The fingers, thankfully, start up again, and Peter writhes, lips curling into a soft smile around the girth of the plug as Tony starts working him wide with three fingers. Reaching over to the nightstand, Tony grabs a small bottle of lube and flips the cap with his thumb. “Let’s get you a little more lubed up, sweetheart. Get you all wet and sloppy so Daddy can fuck you good.”

“Yes, please, Daddy.” The plug slips from Peter’s lips, then, barely in for longer than a minute, but Peter can’t bring himself to care; he nods frantically and bites his lower lip as he watches Tony retract his fingers and pour a generous squirt of lube all over them.

“Lost another one of Daddy’s diamonds, hmm?” Tony asks, pausing as the diamond plug hits the bedspread and rolls away. “Such a careless boy.” For a heart-stopping moment, Peter holds his breath and stares woefully at Tony, thinking that some form of penalty is coming, but Tony just shrugs and a fond look crosses his face. “You’re lucky Daddy is feeling so generous tonight,” he murmurs, and he starts to warm up the lube between his fingers. "So forgiving."

Peter waits in barely-contained anticipation, fighting the strong urge to fidget, until _finally_ , Tony reaches back down between Peter’s parted legs and brushes his lubed fingers between Peter’s cheeks. It’s deliciously slippery, and the loud squelching of Tony’s fingers sliding back in makes Peter’s breath catch and his entire body clench.

“Hmm, you’ve always liked hearing it, haven’t you? You love hearing how sopping wet you are?” Tony asks, because no reaction of Peter’s body, no matter how tiny, flies over Tony’s head. “Just wait until Daddy’s fucking you, baby.”

 _Oh gosh_ , Peter thinks. “Yes, Daddy,” he says, “Please, hurry, please. I need you to -- ” He barely cuts himself off, remembering Tony admonishing his language earlier.

Tony notices. “You’re so good, sweetheart,” he praises, “So obedient. You know what obedient boys get, Peter?”

As he utters those words, Tony pulls back and undoes his dress slacks, slowly taking out his cock -- flushed an angry red and so hard it must be driving him close to mad. Peter’s mouth waters, imagining how that thickness will soon be inside him. He licks his lips unconsciously.

“You like what you see, baby?” Looking straight at Peter with a devilish smirk, Tony gives his cock a slow, teasing stroke that makes Peter’s stomach flip-flop.

“Yes, Daddy, please put it in me -- I need you in me.” Reaching down, Peter grabs one of his legs behind the knee and pulls it up, knowing that from his vantage point, he’s giving Tony an inviting eyeful of his hole, glistening and pink and just asking to be fucked. “Please use me like you paid for me.”

The request slips out before Peter can even process it. But suddenly, he realizes that being used is _exactly_ what he wants.

His words, combined with his tempting position, breaks down the last ounce of restraint within Tony. The man lets out a low growl and makes quick work of slicking his cock up with lube, uncaring of how it drips onto the front of his pants. He’s already soaked in piss, after all. He prowls forward, pinning Peter’s raised leg even further back with his shoulder, and lines up so that Peter can feel the head of Tony’s cock resting right against the pucker of his hole. “You mean that, sweetheart?” Tony husks. “Tell me you mean that. And you’ll use your safeword if you need to?”

“Yes,” Peter nods, “Yes, yes, Daddy. You paid so much money for me. Use like your whore. Use me in any way you wish. Let me be your toy, your hole to wreck.”

Not even a second passes from his last word, before Tony slams home with a resounding snap of his hips that drives right into Peter’s prostate.

Peter _howls._

“Yeah, that’s it,” Tony snarls, grasping both of Peter’s thighs with his hands. He pushes them so far back that Peter is pinned in place and completely under Tony’s control. “Take Daddy’s cock, slut.” His hips piston brutally, fucking into Peter at a furious, bruising rhythm that has Peter’s cock bouncing with it, slinging milky white precome between them.

Peter simply gives in -- gives himself over to Tony's rough ministrations -- allows his body to rock bonelessly with Tony’s thrusts, head lolling and loud, wailing moans spilling out of his wide-open mouth. And Tony -- Tony just fucks into him like an absolute machine, a relentless pounding of flesh on flesh, and he was _not_ joking when he said Peter would be able to hear; the loud squelching of his cock pushing in and out of Peter, sopping wet with a combination of lube and piss, is absolutely obscene and so, so hot.

And Tony _looks_ incredible. His face is a half-foot away from Peter’s, and his gaze is fixed right on Peter’s face, mouth parted slightly in a leering smile, dark tuft of hair dangling right above his brow and wafting slightly with each thrust. His body and words are relentless, but his eyes are traitorously soft and so, _so doting_ , and that hint of gentleness is what finishes Peter. Something in him snaps, his back arches, and he comes all over himself with a choked gasp.

And that? That tips Tony over the edge, despite his free pass to use Peter for as long as he wishes. “Sweetheart,” he groans, and his hips give a violent stutter. As he fills Peter up, he drops forward and captures Peter's lips in a deep, tender kiss that has them panting into each other's mouths as they slowly come down. “Fuck, do I love you,” he eventually murmurs against Peter’s lower lip, minutes later, and Peter lets out a soft mewl at those words.

“I love you, too, Tony,” Peter whispers back, reaching up with his hands to cup at the man’s bearded jaw. “You’re so good to me.” To his utter mortification, Peter feels the faintest sting of tears behind his eyes, and he swallows them down, though he knows Tony reads microexpressions too well. He wouldn’t have missed this.

“You deserve it,” Tony says, stroking a finger through Peter's hair. “I know the money thing is weird for you, sometimes, but you _are_ my prince. You’re not a whore, or a sugar baby, or a piece of arm candy -- you’re royalty to me, do you understand?”

A sniffle. A wet laugh. Peter clears his throat, blinks furiously, and lets Tony press soft kiss after soft kiss to his face. “I understand,” Peter says, smiling when a kiss is placed right on the tip of his nose.

“ _What happens in Vegas,_ right?” Tony says. “That’s what they say?” He rolls onto his side, cock slipping out of Peter with a faint trickle of wet, and he gathers Peter into a sweaty, come-stained tangle of limbs. 

“It is,” Peter replies, blinking at the strange segue. He wraps his shaky limbs around the older man, basking in the afterglow.

“You can leave anything behind, apparently. Any act, any person. Any baggage. You can throw it away here. Supposedly.”

“Yeah?" Tony’s words are dangerously vague. For several, long moments, Peter waits for the doubt to hit him. For the insecurity to hit him.

But, they don’t; he feels no doubt, no insecurity. No trepidation.

Gentle as a feather, Tony rests his forehead against Peter’s, so close that their breaths mingle as one. “Not this, though,” Tony says. “Never this.”

“Right,” Peter agrees. “Never this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the last part gets fluffy because I can't freaking help myself. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed, and any comments are absolutely cherished!
> 
> \---
> 
> I am [SbiderSlut](http://sbiderslut.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come by and say hi! 💖💕


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